X Cluded Moments
by J.L. Stone
Summary: New chapters . . . and editing! Piotr Rasputin has a manly problem. Hank McCoy has a serious dandruff issue. Guido Carosella's taste in spicy food calls for drastic measures. Please R&R.
1. Frozen Happiness

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I've been wanting to do this for a while. To write short little tidbits about life in the X-Universe: And not JUST X-Men. Although, I am certain a lot of the new fanfictioners will be more familiar with the X-Movie verse. I didn't like it so much, but I did, somehow, find the pairing of Bobby and Rogue adorable. Well, anyways, enough of my mindless drive!! Here is the first installment. Bobby and Logan being totally OOC. Thought it was cute. I came up with it at like, 4 a.m., so spare me. Tell me if you think I need to pull it!_

Frozen Happiness

It was one of those teenage hunger pangs, the kind where you stayed up until after midnight and your body is screaming at you to feed it. So, Bobby had headed down to the kitchen, gotten out the ice-cream, and found himself a nice, big spoon. Not a moment after he'd sat down, taking that first, sweet bite of frozen-happiness from the carton, a familiar figure--dinner-plate belt buckle and all--came stalking into the kitchen.  
It was then that all of the previous frozen-happiness's happiness ran off into the darkest reaches of Bobby Drake's teenage mind, and he dropped the spoon. He wanted to tell Logan to get the heck out of the kitchen, but that would require a pretty big death wish. He figured the best way to get to the bottom of this, to enjoy his frozen-happiness in silence, was to simply inquire . . .  
"Can't sleep"  
"Not tired." Logan said as he opened the refrigerator door. As usual, no beer was present, so he searched in the bottom most reaches of the fridge and dug up a Coke. He popped the top and turned to Bobby, leaning against the refrigerator.  
"Why are you up?" Logan looked suspicious and he examined the ice-cream box. "Hungry?" He said it as if he were an interrogator asking something like 'where were you on the night of July 4th? Lighting fireworks? I THINK NOT!'." Yeah, I got up to get something to eat," Bobby poked the frozen-happiness with his spoon, a promise of succeeding in ridding the kitchen of the wolverine. Logan looked at him curiously, took a sip of soda, made a face, and sat it back down on the counter.  
"So . . . how're you and Rogue"  
"Pretty good," Bobby answered casually. "How about you"  
"Ahh . . ." Logan sighed and took another drink, "I guess I'm okay"  
"Cool . . ." Drake poke the frozen-happiness again, declaring victory would be his. Then it happened. Bobby looked back up, and there, staring him down, were two cool, steely eyes. Those eyes were giving him . . . the Squint.

And not just any squint, but LOGAN'S squint; the kind that said 'somethin' ain't right and I think it's you'. Bobby dropped the spoon, ceasing his poking. Logan's eyes had him paralyzed.  
"What exactly do you WANT from her?" Logan growled, suddenly. "I was a teenage boy once! I know what all of you want! You'd better show her some respect or . . ." one of his claws extended, "or I'll have to get personal"  
Bobby bit his lip and felt himself sinking down into his chair. It was true, there were times when all he could think about were Rogue perfectly . . . well, you get the picture. But, how did Logan know that? It was hard to believe that someone as surly and basically emotionally stagnant as Logan could have possibly been a teenager. Suddenly, Bobby's train of thought was broken by the laughter resonating from Logan's general direction. The older man was laughing, not just a snicker, but actually laughing. He'd abandoned his soda on the counter and was laughing, crouched over bit.  
Bobby sat up, "Mr. Logan"  
"That was just too good to pass up!" Logan regained control, picking up his soda.  
"You mean . . . you weren't serious?" Bobby asked, his drive for the frozen happiness once more renewed, he took up the spoon. Logan took a drink, and looked at him with an eyebrow raised.  
"About what"  
"That hole 'knowing what all of you want' thing"  
"Oh that," Logan crumpled his can and chucked it in the trash. "No, I was only kidding about the being a teen-ager thing; I don't remember it. But, "he pointed at Bobby, "If you don't show her some respect, I WILL hafta get personal"  
Logan--dinner-plate belt buckle and all--went stalking out of the kitchen.  
Taking that second, not-as-sweet-but-still-pretty-good bite of frozen-happiness from the carton, Bobby declared that 'Victory was his!'.

Fin


	2. Selsun Blue

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Can you imagine poor Hank's dandruff problems? Nuff said._

Selsun Blue

Jubilee hadn't needed the lecture from Xavier to set her bad mood. Logan wasn't talking to her, and beside that, she couldn't find Beast anywhere to ask for help with her chemistry test. The young X-Man kicked the wall as she passed the TV room, causing Rogue to jump and glare at her.

"Dang, girl, you tryin' ta' gimme a heart attack?"

"Sorry," Jubilee said sulkily, "I'm goin' to my room."

She continued down the hall, dragging her feet. On her way through the corridor, Bobby bumped past, completely devoid of all emotion as he droned toward Rogue's position. Jubilee laughed: They couldn't even kiss without getting hurt.

It hit her then, one of those sudden, irritating urges. She had to pee. Bad. Jubilee rushed into the bathroom, slammed the door, and sat down on the toilet to relieve herself.

"Pardon?" A voice came from the bathtub, and Jubilee nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd been too busy trying to go that she somehow hadn't noticed the giant, blue figure in the tub.

Hank had a back scratchier in one hand, and a bottle of Selsun Blue in the other. Jubilee covered herself quickly with her jacket so that the much older professor didn't get a glimpse of her nether regions.

"BEAST! WHAT'RE YOU DOING!"

"Bathing, I suppose," Hank answered calmly. "Have you ever had dandruff?"

"NO!" Jubilee was freaked out. Fully. "Why didn't you lock the door?"

"I expected whoever had to go to the restroom would have the courtesy to knock on the door before they intruded."

"This is too wrong," Jubilee said quietly. "Just . . . just close your eyes and I'll leave."

Beast put the shampoo down, covering his eyes with one enormous hand, "Certainly."


	3. Husky Russkie

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Uhm . . . considering how I feel when I look at my girlfriend sometimes . . . most of the time, it really isn't surprising that I wrote this. More to come with Guido. wink WARNING! It may make you blush!_

**Husky Russkie **

Piotr turned over for what seemed to be the six . . . hundredth time. Although the mansion was always cool on summer nights, his room, his bed, HE was burning up. There was a certain tension in the air; one of those nights when it seems like everyone needs SOMETHING, and Piotr was feeling very . . . needy.  
The muscled wonder rolled over once more and gave a sigh, deep and rumbling, from his chest. The muscles heaved with his hitched breathing; he'd never felt quite so . . . needy. WELL, maybe NEVER, but pretty darn close.  
A fan was blowing air through his thick, wavy, black hair, but the breeze did little to calm the heat radiating from his stomach. Not even when he tossed off the blankets, when he threw off his pants, when he was stripped to his boxer-shorts did he cool off. Face red with this heat, Piotr sat up in bed.  
"Perhaps . . . no . . ." he groaned and fell back, grimacing slightly with thought. "No . . . Katya is away . . . I feel so very . . .ahk!" He looked to the ceiling in his aggravation. The muscles in his stomach were growing taut as he fought the heat that was building within them. He tossed over, onto his side, letting the fan's air hit him full on in the face.  
"Bozhe MOI! I cannot think"  
The truth, however, was that he could not think about anything ELSE but Kitty. He imagined what she would do if he were to go to her like this, like some fawning school boy. Red faced, hot, feeling stranger than he had in a very long time. She would probably hug him, tell him she loved him . . . then: Well the rest was left to Piotr's wandering imagination. Ten minutes later, he was pulled from his man trance by the heat pooling in his lower belly. If he didn't do something about this soon it was going to handle itself, and not in the cleanest of ways.  
He slid off the bed and put his pajama pants back on. It was late, but he was sure someone was up. Perhaps his comrade, Bobby Drake, would know what to do.

At the rap on his door, Bobby rose from his seat on the bed and dropped his swimsuit magazine on the floor. He rubbed an eye with one hand. It wasn't that he was tired so much as he was bored. Drake needed some action, and half welcomed the company, even if the hour was ungodly.  
The figure who filled the doorway looked like he'd just run a seven mile marathon. Piotr's face was so flushed he looked almost as red as Jean's hair. At the sight of him, Bobby smiled, half heartedly.  
"Hey Petey . . . whatsup? You hot 'er somethin'? I got a few cold ones if you want one"  
"No. I . . . appreciate your . . . offer for a 'cold one'," Piotr answered stiffly (literally), "but I haff come to ask if you . . . could help"  
"Whoa now, big fella," Bobby said, suddenly catching Piotr's train of thought. However, Bobby's train was on the wrong side of the track. "If you've got a 'problem' with . . ." Bobby gave him a look, "you know, I'm not like that, man"  
"NYET!" Piotr shrieked. "I haff come to ask if you would let me . . . borrow something that might help"  
"Why didn't you say so?" Bobby asked, "I got all sorts of stuff like that. Logan's borrowing my Asian Girls Gone Wild DVD set, but I think I can still fix you up all right."

Piotr returned to his room feeling a little less hopeless but a lot . . . tenser in many respects. He laid back on the bed and flipped open the magazine, which fell immediately open to a centerfold. The woman within was, well, nude with s slight frame, much like his Katya's. Her hair was even the same shade of brown, with little tunnel curls. Piotr gave a shuttering sigh and hoped Bobby didn't mind him keeping this one for a while.


	4. A Story for Snowflake

Title: A Story for Snow Flake

Summary: Piotr tells a bedtime story to his Little Snow Flake.

A Story for Snow Flake

By J.L. Stone

"Tell me a story, big brother, please"  
A wisp of blonde hair passed beneath Piotr's range of sight as its owner swooped down into his and her bed. Illyana, being only four, understood very little except that big brother was there to protect her and tell her stories before bed: And, of course, do other things such as help take care of her when she was sick and so on. The girl nestled down under the blankets, much as a mouse would its burrow, and poked her head out of the top to peak at Piotr. He couldn't help but smile as she flashed a grin at him; her missing front tooth making a noticeable but adorable gap. Piotr crawled into bed beside her, sharing it was a normal thing for the two. He pulled the blankets up over his massive chest, which she deemed a pillow to lay on, and she sighed impatiently.  
"Tell me the one about the Yam"  
"Again?" Piotr said with a laughing sigh. "Didn't I tell you that one last night"  
"No," she protested, "last night you told me the one about the sword and the yellow princess. I want to hear about the Yam! It is funny! Please"  
She was whining, but it wasn't unbearable, or annoying. Piotr shook his head and patted her own smaller, blonde one.  
"Hush now, Little Snow Flake, it is time to be quieter"  
"M'kay," she said in a whisper, but it was followed by a little giggle. Piotr smiled. He closed his eyes and imagined the story in front of him, like a painting.  
"There was once a farmer who worked very hard. One day, during harvest, he came across a patch of yams he had forgotten about. The tops of the plants were all grayish and crumpled, but as the farmer was very poor, he decided he would try to sell the yams for a little something: But, when the farmer reached out and yanked the yam from it's hole, the yam said, "Put me back where you got me"  
The farmer shrieked and dropped the yam, which protested loudly that the farmer should have taken better care of it, and that he should put it back and let it sleep all winter. When the farmer didn't put the yam back, from behind his dog spoke.  
"You should listen," the dog said. The farmer yelped, yet again, and rushed to the nearest tree, yanking a switch out with which to whip the dog. The tree yelped and said: "Hey, put that back!" the Farmer could only stare. When he did not do as he was told, the stick said: "Yes! Put me down! But gently"  
The farmer ran from his farm and into the streets, frightened and too skittish to return home. While running, he was stopped by a fisherman who carried a fish basket on his head. The fisherman grabbed him by the arm.  
"Why are you running?" the fisherman said.  
"My yam spoke to me, then the dog told me to drop it, and a picked a branch to whip the dog, but the tree got angry and told me to put the branch down, but the branch said to do it gently"  
"Well, that's no so bad, is it?" The fisherman replied. Then from his head, the fish basket protested.  
"It's funny, isn't it"  
The fisherman looked at the farmer, and they both began to run. Eventually they came to a stream with a man bathing at the shallow. When their feet touched the cold water they stopped running and stared. The bather looked up with a shocked look.  
"What's wrong?" he asked.  
"My yam told me to put it down, then the dog told me to do it, then I tried to whip it with a switch, but the switch told me to put it down, but gently"  
"Then," said the fisherman, "my fish basket said, 'It's funny isn't it"  
"I don't know what's wrong with that." the bather said, but then the river spoke.  
"You'd run too, if it happened to you"  
The bather got up and sprinted off, followed by the two men. When they reached town, the men met up with a weaver who carried a bundle of cloth on his head. The weaver stopped them in their running, and asked with concern, "What's the matter"  
"My yam talked," the farmer said, "and so did the tree, the branch, and the dog"  
"And my fish basket," said the fisherman.  
"And the river," the bather said.  
The weaver looked at them all and with a puzzled look said, "What's wrong with that"  
"Now that IS odd, isn't it." the bundle of cloth said. And the weaver went running with them.  
The four men ran until they reached the leader of their Collective. He listened to all of their stories: About talking dogs and fish baskets, even speaking rivers. The leader finally looked at them all and told them to go home and pretend everything was fine, and if anything else talked, they should just ignore it. Finally, when they had all left, the leader sat back and sighed.  
"Some people," he said.  
"Yeah," said the chair, "can you imagine, a talking yam."

Piotr looked down at Illyana, who was fast asleep and drooling on his chest. The big man smiled and stroked her hair, leaning over her only to turn out the light. He nestled into bed, hoping she had enjoyed what she'd heard of it. He closed his eyes and thought about what story he would tell to his Little Snow Flake tomorrow.


	5. Fend for Yourself

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This little tidbit was conceived when my girlfriend and I were talking about X-Factor. Ultimately I decided that the new issues, well . . . they bite some seriously big wind. So decided, absolutely, that if I were to write anything with the team it would be the old nineties group. For those of you who don't know these fine characters, here's the roster:_

_Alex Summers (Havoc)_

_Lorna Dane (Polaris –rawr-)_

_Forge (Also –rawr-)_

_Jamie Madrox (Multiple Man)_

_Rahne Sinclair (Wolfsbane)_

_Guido Carosella ( "Strong Guy" also, also –rawr-)_

_Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver. He's not always there though.)_

_And then, of course, there were all of the loverly villains. Such legendary names as Random (A.K.A. Marshall "Marsha" Evans, the III, I believe), the Genoshian Magistrates, and we must not forget the illustrious Haven. Quite a colorful cast, no? Suffice to say, I am an avid X-Factor fan. Shoot me if you want, I know there are some X-Freaks out there who are STILL claiming left and right that X-Factor is a "X-Rip". But let me give you something to chew on. Why would Marvel hack their OWN stuff?_

_And, did I mention, Guido's uber-smexy?_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own X-Factor, or any of the characters that therein belong._

Chapter 5: Fend For Yourself

Dinner time at the X-Factor compound. A time of dread terror. Everyone would hope and pray that when they came to the table that there was not a black, burnt . . . monstrosity awaiting them. Suffice to say it was usually "fend for yourself", but tonight the members of X-Factor had been called to the table to eat a "family dinner". Guido liked to refer to these nights as "sit downs" because you knew you'd sit down, but with Lorna cooking it was a bit unclear if you would ever . . . ever rise again.

But now, at half past six all members (save Pietro, of course) were gathered at the table. Guido, however, was in the kitchen from which wafted a smell which was strange and enticing all the same.

"Hey, d'you know what he's making?" Jamie asked with an elbow in Rahne's side.

"Nu, but whatever t'is, it smells like heaven."

Moments later, the doors to the kitchen came open and gave way to Guido's massive form. He ducked under the doorframe and turned around. In his over-mitten clad hands was an enormous pan bursting with lasagna.

"Get it while it's _hot!_" Guido said with a huge grin as he sat the food down in the center of the table. For a moment they all stared and then the eye of the storm passed and hungry hands went out. Most of half the pan was gone when Guido finally sat down and began eating. He shoveled it down in big forkfuls and then . . .

"WATER!"

"Oh my God!"

"Ackkk!"

As Guido shoved a huge mouthful of his cooking into his mouth and swallowed he gazed at his friends. Alex was guzzling his water like there was no tomorrow and to his left, Jamie gurgled a mouthful of H2O. Rahne had little tears forming quickly in her green eyes and Lorna was busy scraping her tongue with a napkin. Forge, meanwhile, surveyed his chunk of lasagna with a strange look on his face. Finally the techno-genius opened his mouth.

"It cannot be _that _bad."

The others watched as he brought a forkful to his lips and onto his tongue. After a moment of chewing, horribly masticated wad of sauce, meat, cheese, and noodle was back on his plate and looking evil.

"Italian sausage!" Forge cried out. They all looked at Guido who was bringing the last of his huge serving to his mouth. He stopped short of his lips and surveyed his friends' collective gaze. A gigantic, nervous grin overcame his features.

"Fend for yourselves . . .?"

As Guido reached for another slice of the cuisine, Jamie was already on the phone and calling for take-out.

_**So, now I think I should tell you. Something similar happened to me when my friend's mom made Lasagna. It was so immensely spicy that on the second bite I was practically in tears. And this is coming from a good ol' Italian girl. (I have my dad's last name, for those of you wondering . ). I love spicy food, but stars and garters (hehe, Hank)! That stuff was OUTTA HERE!**_

_**--J.L.—**_


	6. There Was Fire

_Human beings are so made that the ones who do the crushing feel nothing; it is the person crushed who feels what is happening. Unless one has placed oneself on the side of the oppressed, to feel with them, one cannot understand._

_Simone Weil_

There Was Fire . . .

"Little Snowflake!" Piotr's heart raced as he crashed down the spiral staircase that linked the top and bottom floor of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. He had awoken to loud sounds floating in from the courtyard, but by the time he had gotten to the hallway, the fire alarm was blaring out a harsh and remorseless tune that echoed the panic in his own racing, rattled brain.

There were others awake, students frantically trying to wake others as the school was dyed blazing orange and red by the fire that raged on. To Piotr's dismay, the sprinkler system had kicked on, but to no effect. There was something else causing the fire—something that could not be halted by water, even by the gallons.

As Piotr clambered to the final step, he whirled and saw Jubilee, among a larger group of students trying frenetically to open the double doors at the front of the mansion. The giant Russian leapt forward and pushed Jubilee out of the way.

"Peter!" She cried as he shoved her, and within moments his skin was changing quickly, becoming shiny and nearly diamond hard. With a nod, he signaled for her to step back. The students gave him a wide berth as he approached the door.

He reared back, and with the force of a charging bull, he rammed the doors with all of five-hundred pounds.

The door gave way in a fabulous array of shards and splinters. On the other side of the barrier, a tumult of screams and angry cursing swelled. Ignoring the gaping crowd of students, Piotr turned to Jubilee, grabbing her by the shoulders gently.

"Get as many people out as you can!" He said desperately. "I must find Illyana; she is not in her room!" Without an answer, he rushed off into the quickly spreading blaze as Jubilee ushered students out into the smoke-tainted, night air.

Piotr hurtled down the hallway at break-neck speed. The floor splintered up beneath his heavy steps, but he raced on without heed. He rushed into the kitchen and stood in the doorway, scanning the room.

"Little Snowflake!" He called out. "Illyana!" But, there was no reply to his beckoning.

"Petey!"

The voice made him turn on his heel. In the doorway to the kitchen stood Bobby Drake, the Iceman. He was still clad in his pajamas, while in his arms dangled the limp body of Kitty Pryde, her brown hair tangled amid his fingers.

"You haff found Katya!" Piotr praised, but his heart still pounded. "Was Illyana with her?"

"No." Bobby replied, "I think she might be in the Day Room."

"Wh-why?" Piotr asked, confused.

"You ever played hide and seek with her? Her favorite place is the laundry shoot."

"BOZHE MOI!" Piotr exclaimed, and he rushed past Bobby and down the hall once more.

_Meanwhile, outside . . ._

Police were lining the lawns of the Institute to control the mob that had gathered there. Jubilees was filing students out of the mansion and onto the green yard while those who were gathered outside called out various things. "Filthy mutants!" and "Freaks" were among the motley deluge of name-calling.

The students were pooling in the midst of the growing riot that was forming, and as police whistles rang out, no one noticed the figure that receded into the shadows of the street and disappeared down an alley.

Piotr's broad figure filled the doorway of the Day Room as he rushed in with burning determination. Without a moment's hesitation, he rushed to the tiny door that was the laundry shoot. He grasped the small, metallic handle and flung the door open. His heart leapt.

"LITTLE SNOWFLAKE!" He called as he scooped up the shaking, coughing figure in the shoot. The blonde girl quivered at his touch and looked up into the eyes of her armored knight.

"Big brother . . ." she said, trailing off. Her head fell limp.

"Illyana!" He cried, holding her close to his chest. Her hand went out to clasp to his torn and tattered shirt, feebly. Suddenly, he was hurtling away down the hall before a second thought glanced his mind.

Outside, as the cops tried to suppress the mob, people that were gathered near the doorway caught site of a huge, metal giant and fled without hesitation. Piotr did not stop running until he reached the ambulance that sat parked on the street corner among the flashing lights of the police cars.

The paramedic within was shocked as Piotr passed Illyana into his arms and in a frantic voice pleaded, "Help . . . please . . ."

"O-okay . . ." the paramedic said, taking Illyana with care, and he placed her on the stretcher. Soon he was giving her oxygen, CPR, and soon, she was gasping and coughing.

"Piotr!" She cried out, writhing on the stretcher. The paramedic patted her on the head gently, coaxing her. But she still cried out for her big brother. Finally, giving in, the medic picked her up, gently, and passed her to the armored giant.

Piotr gazed down at her intently. Illyana's cheeks were smudged with soot and her hair was dirty and smelled of smoke. But he did not care—his Little Snowflake was gazing up at him with those wide blue eyes. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but shut it again.

"My . . . Little Snowflake," he uttered. Suddenly, his skin began to change, becoming fleshy and warm once more. Tears streaked small rivers down his dirty face, and he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

"There was fire . . ." she whispered, before drifting off to sleep.

_The Next Day . . ._

Extensive damage had been dealt to the mansion, but with the help of the fire department, and Iceman, the fire had been put out before the place was deemed uninhabitable. Most of the subbasement had survived, and only the East Wing had been terribly damaged. So, lessons went on as they usually did, but some classes were conducted on lawns and in the Main Hall.

Professor Xavier wheeled into Piotr's room in the late afternoon, his usual placid gaze in place, in spite of the previous night's transpirings. In silence he sat for several moments to watch his student paint, before Piotr finally turned in his chair.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Peter . . . I wanted to talk to you about last night . . ."

Piotr put his paint-brush down and sighed. He then turned and fixed blue eyes upon his superior's own dark, probing ones.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, did you see anything before the fire?"

"The mob," Piotr explained. "They were rallying outside, but by the time I got up, the fire had started."

Professor Xavier smiled and bowed politely, "Thank you Peter." He began wheeling out.

"Professor . . ." Peter began. Xavier stopped and turned round to look at him.

"Yes?"

"Will they ever stop hating us?"

Xavier seemed to consider for a long while before answering. He closed his eyes and mused:

"Hate is a thing that is suppressed, not forgotten, Peter . . ." and without a backward glance, he left Piotr to his painting.


End file.
